wednesday, april 11

this poem again

a day on the road, pavement and gas stations
the endless god damned sky
the sun like glass and structural steel
like empty storefronts and gravel in the streets
like the covers of 1970s new wave paperbacks
like none of these things, like mathematics
and corn growing in the busted dirt

the plains like nothing at all
the wind
going on forever

the opening movements of
the season: that day you realize the deep
boulder strange is leaking back out into the world
the low wet clouds hanging over the foothills
the nighttime thunderstorm passing fast but
shaking a little with portent

random shake and ancient pipe scrapings
no idea of the thing you'd want to share
with a newcomer to the field
nothing for any dignified night
just a quiet motion of last resort while
the rain tapers off

lightning through the basement windows
low thunder as it rolls
out above the flat